


Love In The Time Of The Dagor Dagorath

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Comedy, Crowning Moments of Awesome For ALL!, Dagor Dagorath, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Tears, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4269945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The End of Days has come, and the family of Hurin emerge to take their revenge on Morgoth, which has unexpected benefits for a reembodied Beleg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love In The Time Of The Dagor Dagorath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mithen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/gifts).



Beleg watched the stars just as much in Valinor, reembodied, as he ever had in Middle-earth. The Warrior rode high in the cold northern skies, and Beleg followed him, watched him, waited. 

Now the end of days approached, and the Halls of Mandos lay empty. Feanor was the last to leave, renewed, the fire in his eyes as bright as ever, tempered only by the long patience he had learned over the millennia. Still, when the Noldor saw him, as he knelt before Finarfin in the Court of Kings in Tirion, a shout went up that could have been heard in Formenos. So the final days began.

Morgoth had been creeping back from the Void for ages now, infecting all the lands in subtle ways, sparing only Valinor. It remained only to him to take physical form, the form of a Man, noble and proud, with grey eyes and dark hair, and to gather up all the tendrils of his own power into his grasp. Orcs and Balrogs poured from their hiding places; Sauron unveiled himself alongside Morgoth, and fear began to reign over the wide lands of Middle-earth. 

The world of Men fell before him like a house of cards, carefully placed to fall at the lightest touch. Morgoth had been laying the rotten foundations for centuries untold, while in Valinor the Elves sang and the Valar sat in thought. 

Earendil descended from the sky to warn the Valar of the return of Morgoth. And now the immensity of their folly at abandoning the world of Men was revealed, and late - but not too late - they sprang into action.

\------

The Door of Night was opened, and all the Eldar stood waiting. All the Valar stood waiting too, as walking through it came the figures of six of the Race of Men. 

First in the procession were two women, both golden-haired, leading a child by the hands between them. One of the women had a merry face, and one was more sober, and they raised their free hands to the crowds in acknowledgement, as voices called out to them, naming them Lalaith and Nienor. The child was unknown and whispers arose about who she might be, among the crowd.

Following them was a short Man with golden hair and a laughing face. He bore an ax over his shoulder. Beside him walked a tall dark-haired woman. She gazed out on the waiting crowds soberly, and many among the crowd called their names - "Hurin!" said some, and "Morwen!" others. 

Just behind them, last of the group, was a Man so like to her in face and form that he could have only been her son. He wore a high helm which bore a dragon's form, and a shout went up from many of those watching the procession at the sight of it. 

"The Dragon Helm of Dor-lomin!" they cried, and Beleg joined in, pushing his way toward the front of the crowd, too eager to stay back. "The Dragon Helm returns! Turin Turambar returns!" 

Turin's head, which had been bowed, rose at the sound of the many voices that knew him. With a ringing rasp he drew the sword he carried in its sheath on his belt, and it was black, the sword Anglachel, the sword that so long ago had in pain taken Beleg's life, and later, had taken Turin's own. Now Turin raised it to the sky in triumph, and the cries redoubled. 

"Turin!" Beleg shouted, leaning forward, pushing his way past the front of the crowd into the open space between the gathering and the small family. The breeze caught his hair, and he swept a hand over his head, pushing it back, and paused in the middle of the movement, as Turin noticed him. 

A bright look came over his face. Without further ado he sheathed the sword, and ran toward Beleg, ignoring everything else. Beleg smiled in welcome, and held out his arms. 

Turin collided with him, nearly sending them both flying. "Beleg!" he said, his voice filled with wonder and happiness. He drew back a little after the first sudden desperate hug, and took off the Dragon Helm, laying it down carefully on the ground, and then came back into Beleg's open arms. 

They clung together for a long moment, until Beleg realised that Turin was weeping, head buried against his shoulder. 

"Don't," he said, pulling away a little, wiping away Turin's tears with his fingers. "All is well." 

Turin gave him a fierce look, full of regret and devotion, and then kissed him. It was not a gentle kiss and Beleg did not want it to be - he kissed Turin back again with equal force. Around them the crowd was falling silent as the assembled multitudes watched. When they drew apart and looked around, Turin flushed hotly, but Beleg only smiled. 

\-----

They were to leave in the morning - the vanguard of the Eldar, the Valar, and the representatives of the Race of Men, the appointed slayers of Morgoth. The ships were ready, the warriors trained, and Beleg, giving his crossbow one last going over, was waiting in the darkness, unable to sleep, even in the safety and comfort of his home. 

"I made them tell me where you lived," Turin said, opening the unlocked door and walking into the room, approaching the couch where Beleg sat. "I had to see you. I do not know what fate awaits us, but I could not just see you once and then go to it with only tears and a kiss between us." 

Beleg laid his bow down and stood up. "Come with me," he said, reaching out a hand. Turin took it, and Beleg led them into his bedroom. 

They undressed each other in the dark, fingers fumbling against warm skin, and Beleg tugged Turin into bed with him without further ado. 

"I have always wanted this," Turin said. "I have been dreaming of you, of this, for all this time." 

Beleg laid his mouth against Turin's jaw, feeling the scrape of his stubble. "Beyond the Gift of Men, in the eternal night, you can dream of such things?" he asked softly. 

"If I have thought and feeling at all, anywhere I am, I have been thinking of you," Turin said, and kissed him, long and slow, all the gentleness in this kiss that had been missing from their first. 

"I, too," Beleg said, when the kiss broke at last. "I have been watching the stars and counting the years, waiting for you to return to me, and here you are finally, at the turn of the tide." 

"Victory is not assured," Turin said, trailing his mouth down across Beleg's neck, and then biting down. Beleg gasped softly at the feel of the blood surging to the point of the bruise. 

"I'll wear your mark as I fight," he said, "and all will fear me." 

Turin raised his head. "You'll have my heart in your keeping," he said. "See that you survive, for if and when Morgoth falls to Anglachel's blow, I would have you there."

Beleg did not answer, but kissed him again, pressed him down into the sheets, warm hands against Turin's shoulders. Their bodies met, and Turin gasped. 

"This, I always wanted this," he said. "You." 

"You have me," Beleg said, and took both of them into his hand. Turin's eyes slid shut, and Beleg watched his face in bliss, overwhelmed only when Turin arched against him, spilling between them, panting, saying his name in desperate longing tones. 

\------

The battle was fierce indeed. It was the duty of the Eldar to preserve and protect the Race of Men from harm, while the Powers fought. 

The family of Hurin fought with the Valar, each carrying their own weapon, trained and readied for their roles in the fight. Hurin bore his ax and Turin Anglachel, while Morwen fought with a crossbow much like Beleg's own, Nienor carried many small explosives, Lalaith bore two long sweeping curved scimitars, and even the young child, Nienor's daughter Megileth, carried a dagger and fought as valiantly as any of the others, creeping up on unsuspecting Orcs and slicing the backs of their knees, darting away before she could be caught. 

Over their heads, Earendil fought several dragons at the same time, wearing his Silmaril on his brow, the weaponry on his starship upgraded significantly. The Eagles were with him, fighting too, and even the Ents, long slumbering in their forests, had come to the fight. They did not much love the Race of Men, who had been responsible for destroying so many of their forests, but they could not abandon the Earth to Morgoth's tender mercies, and see every tree cut down, the land made into a barren desert. 

Beleg fought as one of the protectors of the Race of Men, guarding a safe zone where noncombatants had been directed to stay. His crossbow was swift and deadly, and in spare moments, he watched every minute of the fight unfolding in the streets of a large city far away, where Morgoth and his highest captains were protected by their best soldiers. The television cameras seemed to like to follow Turin's exploits, as he wielded the large sword with power and grace. 

Dead orcs and trolls lay all through the streets as the family of Hurin made their way to the large building where Morgoth, Sauron, and Gothmog held final sway. With them twelve Elves and several Maia walked, guarding them. Feanor and Fingolfin led the procession side by side, each wearing a crown bearing one of the recovered Silmarils. 

Following them were Finrod and Celebrimbor, along with Elrond, Galadriel, Ecthelion, and Glorfindel. Maedhros and Fingon kept close to Hurin's family, Hurin trading jokes millennia old with Fingon as they went, and Maglor, who looked by far the oldest of the Elves there, his dark beard somewhat scruffy, brought up the rear of the procession along with Mablung. Beleg smiled at the television to see his old friend looking as strong as ever. 

Together they went into the building, where the cameras could not follow. The building itself was black as night. Before long voices could be heard raised in song, and cracks began to appear in it, and then it shattered wholly, falling into shreds and patches of mist. The three lords of evil stood exposed in the pale sunlight, before the small gathered alliance of Valar, Maiar, Elves and Men. Finrod and Maglor ceased singing abruptly as the building vanished. 

It seemed as though the world paused. Beleg watched in silence as the enemies confronted each other. Sauron looked hard at Celebrimbor and Finrod, standing grim and silent side by side, and then he turned and ran. Celebrimbor gave a harsh laugh, and glanced at Finrod, and the two followed, themselves followed by Maglor, Galadriel, Elrond, and Mablung. Even as they ran a wordless song rose from them as one, shaking the air with its power, and then fading as they disappeared into the streets. 

More words hardly needed to be spoken, but it was Feanor at last who spoke - only a few words, directed not at Morgoth, but at Gothmog.

"You," he said, pointing his sword at Gothmog, the Silmaril blazing on his brow. "Time to die." Fingolfin, beside him, nodded grimly, raising his sword in parallel with his brother. 

Behind him, Fingon tightened his grip on his own sword, raising it up too, and exchanged a quick glance with Hurin, not far away. " _Auta i lóme!_ " he shouted in a loud voice. "The night is passing!" 

Hurin gave him a ferocious grin, lifting up his axe, and answered with a shout of his own, " _Utúlie'n aurë!_ The day is come!" 

As one, the small band of Elves sprang to fight the Balrog, who did not quail but rushed to meet them. Weapons clashed and a great smoke arose about them, hiding them from sight as they fought. 

The family of Hurin stood together, facing down their ancient foe. The group of Maiar who were surrounding them melted away to the sidelines, to guard and protect them, and to restrict Morgoth's use of certain powers, but not to interfere. This was the fight of the family, as prophesied long ago. 

Hurin was the first to strike; with a cry of rage and revenge he hurled his axe, and it hit Morgoth in the chest with a wet sickening impact. Even in mortal form, it was nowhere near enough to kill Morgoth, but it did send him staggering backwards, and Morwen's arrow to his thigh, which followed immediately, did not improve matters for him. 

Morgoth struck back with a burst of power that sent both Hurin and Morwen reeling backwards themselves; Morwen's bow flew out of her hand and lay in broken pieces on the ground. He gestured at Nienor, but she was too quick for him, moving out of the way suddenly and throwing something small and deadly in his direction. It exploded in midair just before it reached him, sending him scurrying out of its way. 

As he had been distracted by Nienor, Lalaith, Turin, and Megileth had been making their way toward him from different directions, and all at once Lalaith sprang with a shout, her curved blades flashing in the sun, fast as lightning. One of the blades sliced neatly through Morgoth's wrist, severing his hand. As the hand fell away, power exploded out of him, throwing her backwards across the ground, to lie limp on the marble tiles. 

Nienor immediately threw another small explosive at him, and it went off just as he managed to push it back with a blast of his power. She laughed, tossing her golden hair, for it was not in time to be anywhere near her. He turned to look at her, intending to destroy her in the next moment, but then was stabbed by searing pain in the back of his left knee. 

Vala he may have been but a mortal form can only take so much, and he could not continue standing after a blow like that. He felt himself fall in slow motion, body tumbling to the earth. High laughter reached his ears as Megileth whipped her dagger away and darted from behind him. Even on the ground, he turned to face her, willing himself to kill her, to wipe her and her whole family from the earth with one destructive blow. 

He had forgotten Turin, who struck with all the force of one who had been waiting several dozen millennia for his revenge. Anglachel burned blue and bright as he carved the air downwards, and the last of what Morgoth felt in that mortal form, before his spirit fled wailing into Outer Darkness, never able to take form again, was a blow, swift and sure, to the heart. 

Almost in the same instant, the smoke around the Elves cleared. Gothmog was dying, struck by multiple blows, his fires turning to ash and blowing away on the wind. Maedhros delivered the final blow straight to Gothmog's face, and Gothmog withered before their eyes, blackened and broken. 

Turin knelt at Lalaith's side, anxious, as the rest of the family made their way over to where she lay. Her eyes opened, and she groaned a little, but then laughed. Turin's face broke out into a wide smile, and Hurin tried to embrace his entire family at once, laughing too.

\------

There was still a lot of work to do. Destroying Morgoth didn't mean destroying his Orcs or other servants, and they continued to rage on, in despair, for a while. It was nearly a month before Beleg managed to get away from his duties and head off to find Turin, for the last time. 

At the place where Morgoth had met his end, Beleg laid down his bow and sat down on a nearby bench, folding his arms, and glancing up with a faint smile at a nearby security camera. 

About ten minutes later he spotted Turin running toward him, and stood up to meet him. Their kiss was revolution, revelation, and homecoming all mixed into one, and Beleg gave himself over to it, combing through Turin's hair with his fingers, twining his arms around Turin's neck, muttering soft and sweet promises whenever their lips parted. 

"Victory at last," Turin said, pressing his mouth to Beleg's neck, and smiled against his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> Picture the scene; the family of Hurin deciding on their weapons after returning through the Door of Night:
> 
> Turin: Dad, you've got your axe, I've got my sword, but obviously the ladies need weapons too.  
> Nienor: And they should be fucking awesome, because we went through so much shit and most of it unremembered and unhonoured.  
> Megileth: Mom, I'm definitely getting a dagger, right, because what else did you name me this for?  
> Nienor: Sure, honey, you can have a dagger. Remember how we practiced, back of the knee? [Megileth demonstrates, whacking Turin with her hand in the back of the knee, who gives Nienor a pained grimace and falls to the ground] Yeah, just like that, sweetie!  
> Morwen: I'll have a crossbow. I have no interest in even getting close.  
> Lalaith: Badass curved swords for me! Brother, I know you're meant to deliver the _coup de grace_ , but I'll make sure it's nice and easy for you.  
> Turin: Thanks, baby sis. It's not like I fought zillions of Orcs and a fucking dragon or anything. Nienor, what are you going to have?  
> Nienor: Can I get a nuke?  
> All: NO, Nienor, you can't have a nuke, or even a cruise missile.  
> Nienor: Awww, come on, you know it would sort out the problem once and for all.  
> Hurin: Sweetie, we're meant to minimise civilian causalities. Also, it's close combat.  
> Nienor: We could drop it from orbit, I'm sure Earendil would help us out.  
> Morwen: It's very much against the Rules. But if it's explosives you want, there's some grenades here.  
> Nienor: [shrugs] Grenades'll do.


End file.
